


Cyrions walk.

by Akme2000



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, Morrigan/Male Tabris (Referenced)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24198778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akme2000/pseuds/Akme2000
Summary: During a walk home, Cyrion reflects on his life, his family, and how the world has changed.Originally written for Dragon Age Weekly Writing Prompts.





	Cyrions walk.

The steps are the same as every day, cracked but unmoving, as much a fixture of the street as the muddy ground ahead.

Patchy boots trundle through the dirt, squelching as they do so. The owner of said boots elects to ignore the sound, instead focusing his attention elsewhere.

As he notes, for the second time that week, the path ahead was unusually empty.

He could still see the usual suspects, of course. The children out past their curfew, whose attempts at hiding from his gaze proved laughable. The labourers returning from work, who nodded towards him, and of course, those embarking on the night shift in the square. Upon seeing him, a young man rushed backwards into his mothers house, a rickety old thing. It was a good thing too, or they'd have to have another conversation about the importance of wearing a coat.

_Young people these days, they see falling rain and still leave the essentials behind. What is the world coming to?_

But still, he was grateful that so many had remained. While he was unsure as to why, some had left the city for pastures new in recent months. At first, it was one young boy, and no one thought anything of it. After all, it wasn't unusual to see a youngster attempt to begin a new life elsewhere, especially not now they were permitted to leave. After that, small groups of 3 and 4 kept vanishing into the night, never to be seen again. Following his own consultations with the King, there had been an investigation, but there was no evidence of abduction. Wherever those men and women had gone, they were nowhere to be found.

The disappearances, which they soon discovered were not isolated incidents, had stopped after a time, and the King had remained silent on the issue, seemingly as confused as himself.

Regardless, life continued on as it always had, albeit with tensions resurfacing once again. It was a shame, after the riots of recent times, things had been settling down. In fact, food shortages were stopped entirely, even buildings had been repaired. In fact, more elves than ever before were working in the square, even now.

It was then, when everything seemed right, that the sky ripped open.

The curtain of night did little to conceal it, the scar on the canvas he had once loved. He himself still bore the scars from one of its monsters, the cane in his grip a reminder of the nightmares everyone had witnessed.

Once again, they had all pulled through. Yet even he was beginning to wonder..if they could do so again. After all, so many had left in recent days. Perhaps there was no point in struggling any longer.

The smile plastered on his face was enough to put their minds at ease tonight, passers-by could imagine for themselves the productive conversations that had taken place at the Palace.

In truth, however, he had been angry, more so than he could remember. The talks had proved unhelpful, and not for the first time. As much as he understood the reasons, the clock was ticking. Not just for himself, but for the community. He was tired, tired of waiting for change. Tired of keeping the peace while the world exploded around him.

Tired of losing those he loved.. 

Wooden crosses, engraved with the names of those lost to them, were commonplace in the Alienage. He himself was lucky enough to have a plot of soil behind his house, where the family, and someday he himself, would be buried.

It is with a heavy heart that he lays the flowers down onto the soil, just inches ahead of the crosses. A brief glance towards the plot marked "Shianni" proves too much, the memory of her, how she looked the last time he saw her, it was still impossible to confront. And so he shifts focus towards the other.

There are no words to express his feeling, he has said all he needed to say, and she would know what he would say regardless. It is all he can think to whisper "Adaia" before turning back. He would not keep his promise to his love by wallowing in despair.

Finally, after much delay, the soup was ready. Pouring a bowl for himself proved easy. Resisting the urge to save some for a surprise guest was another.

As he ate, he could not help glancing towards the empty seats at the table, shifting his mind back to different times, where, while there was never so much food in his stomach, there were more hungry children at his table.

Upon finishing his dinner, making sure no soup is left uneaten, he makes his way towards the old bed. In many ways, it looks nicer than his own, it is better kept after all. Any visitors would suspect it was his own, if not for the name "Arlen" scratched into the leg.

Under the frame lied a box, containing his sons early diaries, letters, and the goal of tonight, messages from his nephew Soris. Unlike his own flesh and blood, Soris would not hesitate to fill his writings with unnecessary details, gushing about his family in Highever, and the burgeoning business with his father-in law.

Cyrion had been sceptical upon learning about the human fiancee he had found for himself, but had soon found himself inquiring about her still. After all, his own child had coupled with a human, a mage at that. And, by all accounts Soris seemed happy.

So it was with a lit candle, and a mug of boiled water, that Cyrion sat, once again reading his nephews tales of life in the city. It was frankly amazing how the young man managed to fill 8 pages every time, especially considering he was not the most exciting storyteller. But tonight at least, Cyrion was glad for the excess.


End file.
